


when yasha met zuala

by satindream



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, F/F, Fluff, Homophobia, Yasha will Fuck You Up - Freeform, Zuala is bold - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-16 07:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17545448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satindream/pseuds/satindream
Summary: “I fell in love with someone who was not chosen for me.”Orphan Maker. A terrifying barbarian with a predisposition for killing. She was rage and silence, uncertainty, surviving— untilshewas there.A fire in a dark room. A lily in a wasteland.Zuala.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. The rating may change later. Feel free to comment and point out any errors. I really, really mean it.

“Hail,” Dena said, pinching a small white ball between her fingers.

Yasha hadn’t noticed it in the heat of battle, her senses filled by the white heat that overtook her in combat. Hardly anything beyond enemies or danger went noted when Yasha killed.

And killed she did. 

Luko, sitting off to the side and cleaning his blade, gave a low whistle. 

“All them bodies yours?” Blood dripped into the grass where his rag forced it off of his sword.

Yasha glanced around at the varied corpses littering the ground. Mostly human. Some halfings. The bodies were piled atop each other around her, where they’d tried and failed to turn her into what they were now. 

Something cracked against her brow, and Yasha whirled, only to hear Luko give a hearty chuckle.

“Woah there Orphan Maker!” Dena clapped a hand on her shoulder and grinned with all her blackened teeth.  
“The fightin’ has come to an end. S’only the hail.”

Yasha found a clear spot of grass and stared at it– breathed– trying to calm her heart and clear her head of the chaotic energy pulsing through her.

“Come on,” Luko grunted, hefting himself up. He nodded toward a clearing in the middle of the houses where the rest of the tribe was chucking valuables into a pile. “Let’s get to gatherin’.”

Inside the houses were nothing special. A few gold hidden under a mattress, simple jewelry, silver plates and forks. Yasha caught her reflection in the glass of a cabinet filled with table ware and hesitated. 

Her face was coated in dark blood and grime, streaked through with paths where sweat had made its way down her face. She looked like-

“Orphan Maker!” A booming voice called from the outside. She knew it well, and that it would only call once and did not like to wait. 

Outside, a woman navigated her way across the pile of bodies, rippling with muscle and clad in long pelts. A ray of sun pierced through the hailing sky and illuminated her alabaster hair from behind, giving her already frightening visage an otherworldly look.

Her steel gray eyes lingered on the carnage then pinned on Yasha. She stared intently for a long moment, then straightened.

“You have talent.”

For the first time since the raid had ended, Yasha looked over the rest of the village. There were a few bodies strewn everywhere, but here where she’d been... there was more corpse covered ground then not. They were ankle deep in villagers.

“Th-Thank you.”

The corner of the Sky Spire’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Mild mannered for such a killer.” 

Yasha didn’t know what to say to that. The Sky Spire held her gaze for ages, even after Yasha’d looked away.

The matriarch’s eyes finally slid past her, scanning the area, but found her gaze again. 

“You’ll sit by the fire tonight. We drink to you.”

Her heart stuttered, slightly. “Yes. Of course.”

The Sky Spire left again, making her way through the bodies, and Yasha thought back to what she’d said. 

_You have talent. ___


	2. The Huntress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the reads. I hope you enjoy :)

The sun took her leave and darkness poured across the sky as the Dolorov tribe continued their journey north, heading back toward the territory they'd left behind when winter had taken hold. 

It was nearing spring now, and tinges of color were reappearing where the cold had bled them. The tall grasses had started to green, and white buds bloomed from their tips. 

In front of Yasha, a hand reached to the side and plucked one, then another. It was a woman's hand, and said woman had nearly come to a stop in front of her to collect the unspecial things. 

The woman glanced behind her– at Yasha— and smiled. 

"Sorry about that." The woman plucked a few more buds. She didn't seem that sorry. "Didn't mean to block your path." 

Yasha also looked behind her. The others who'd been trailing behind her were neatly moving around herself and the woman. 

"It's uh– no problem." The woman, now completely stopped, turned to Yasha and looked her over.

"Who are your parents?" 

"Death Dealer and Reviver. Dead." 

The woman smiled again and started walking, looking back as if to say _are you coming?_

"Reviver," she started as Yasha caught up, "I knew I knew your face somehow. Mean as a wasp, but I'll be damned if she couldn't set a bone." 

"Yes. That was her." Yasha took in the woman's face– deep skin and copper hair pulled back into a long braid. Her tattoos–  horizontal lines on each cheekbone– marked her as a hunter. Yasha'd seen her before, but she couldn't place where.  

"Who are yours?" Yasha asked. The woman smiled again— she seemed to do that a lot— and shrugged. Up close, Yasha could see faint lines at the corners of her mouth that seconded her earlier thought.

"Two dead old things. I'm Zuala though." 

Oh. She'd given her personal name. 

Yasha looked at... _Zuala_... again. Her eyes were kind, with not much of a hint of anything else.  

"I am...Yasha."

Zuala cocked her head in thought. “Yasha. _Yashhha_. A pretty name for a pretty woman.”

“I-” 

“Hold!” A yell rang out from the front of the group. “Gnolls! Up-” the voice cut off sharply, and the tribe erupted into a cry as in the distance, a pack of gnolls crested a hill, one of them at the head with a bow in hand.

Zuala locked alarmed eyes on Yasha for a split second, then sprinted into the fray. Yasha drew her blade, and charged to the front of the battle.

There were many more gnolls than there were Dolorov, but the gnolls were beasts and the tribe was made of warrior aasimar. Yasha cut down gnoll after gnoll, beheading and carving and impaling the doglike creatures on her sword, letting the rage take her mind. Her sisters and brothers fought beside her, ripping through the gnolls like brush in a forest. 

The creatures, apparently sensing defeat, turned to run but were quickly ended by the archers who Yasha saw included Zuala. She hung from the tops of a tree by only her legs, dispensing arrows into the fleeing abominations faster than the eye could trace. All traces of the playful woman from earlier had dissolved, in her place a lethal hunter.

When the last gnoll had an arrow through its head, Yasha came down from her rage and began assisting the others in gathering and skinning the bodies. Life had a way of wrapping blessings in misfortune.

She’d made it halfway through her fourth gnoll when Zuala plopped down beside her, panting heavily.

“I see why they call you Orphan Maker. Those things only started running when they saw you cut down half the group by yourself. Have you always been this good?”

Zuala paused. “Why are you looking like that?”

Yasha felt confused, so she figured she probably looked that way.

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh,” Zuala picked up a gnoll from the pile Yasha had in front of her and started carving. “I heard the others earlier going on and on: _Oh did you see Orphan Maker?, Orphan Maker did this, Orphan Maker did that_. I figured it was you after I saw you fight.” 

Yasha didn’t have a response for that. Her face heated and she looked down. She knew her white skin would hide nothing. 

Zuala chuckled a little, and for a while the only sound was of their knives cutting through the sinews of the gnolls, until-

“Yasha,” 

She lifted her head, and Zuala was staring at her with a horrified expression.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Skinning... a gnoll?”

Zuala gaped at her for a few more seconds before blinking, hard, and taking the creature out of Yasha’s hands.

“No,” She gestured at the inside of the pelt with her knife. “Look at all the meat you’ve left on it. And you’re not supposed to cut the pelt! It wastes the fur.”

Yasha shrugged. 

Zuala rested her head in a hand then dragged another gnoll over to Yasha.

“Here, look.” She grabbed Yasha’s hand and guided it over the belly of the gnoll. “Cut here...”

As she traced over various parts of the beast, a lock of hair slipped out of her braid and across her cheek. The metallic color of her hair and richness of her skin actually looked nice together. Her coloring wasn’t blinding or ghastly, like her own or the Sky Spire’s. It was soft, earthy. Lovely, even.

After a few hours, all the gnolls had been skinned, pelts collected, and the area cleaned up enough to make camp. A few scouts went off to search the area the gnolls had come from to make sure there wouldn’t be any more surprises. 

Yasha had almost forgotten– almost– about the Sky Spire’s invitation. 

_“You’ll sit by the fire tonight.”_

The Sky Spire’s fire. With the strongest and most powerful members of the tribe. Had one raid really lead to this?

She spotted the Sky Spire’s tent at the point of the camp, and next to it the fire she was to go to. She walked alone, as Zuala had retired immediately after teaching Yasha the “proper” way to skin something, claiming it had taken a lot out of her.

As Yasha approached, not a single face looked up from where they laughed at some joke a burly man had told. Many she recognized were there; the Sky Spire’s son, one of her consorts, who sat in her lap, and a number of the tribes’ best warriors. 

Yasha lingered around the edges, not sure if the matriarch had forgotten she’d invited her or not. Once the crowd quieted down, the Sky Spire’s eyes lazed over to her and she nodded her head in the direction of a seat next to a woman roasting a gnoll arm over the fire.

The conversation carried on for such a long time that Yasha thought about excusing herself to the latrines, but after what had to be an hour passed, a woman with a shaved head leaned back in her seat and smirked at her. 

“And what about you? How many years have you seen?”

Yasha had no idea what they’d been talking about, but focused on the question. “Uh, twenty, more or less.”

The woman laughed and nudged another woman next to her. “That’s plenty old enough! I think I had nineteen years when I was paired with Black Eyes.” 

What?

A man on the opposite side of the fire nodded. “It’s good to pair the best ones young so they can pass on their blood before they fall.”

The crowd murmured in agreement. Except Yasha. She was being mated? So soon?

The Sky Spire shifted the consort in her lap and looked directly at Yasha. her eyes were piercing— they froze Yasha where she sat.

“Your skill in battle is admirable.” The matriarch’s gaze bored into her as if trying to see into her soul. Yasha fought to keep her expression neutral, but she was astonished.

“You have a weak temperament,” The Spire continued, earning a chuckle from the group, “But you’ll have a fine mate. Soon.” 

Yasha nodded dumbly, and choked out a “yes” after realizing saying nothing would be disrespectful.

The conversation continued into the night, and the group thinned until there were only few left. The woman who’d addressed her earlier clapped a hand on her shoulder, startling her, and leaned in conspiratorially.

“I can smell the nervous on you! Don’t worry about it, s’not all that bad.” She patted Yasha’s shoulder again before disappearing into the night. 

When everyone else had gone, Yasha made the quiet walk back to her tent. She didn’t sleep a wink, tossing and turning the entire night. When she dreamed, she dreamed of carving down men by the dozens.


	3. Pariah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. February has been interesting.

The next morning, the sun emerged from behind the hills and bathed the Dolorov encampment in gold. Dewdrops from the night's rain sparkled like jewels on the grass, and a calm fog had settled in the Sky. 

Yasha awoke damp, part from the humidity and part from the sweat clinging to her back, her arms, every inch of her skin. Her tent which had always given much needed respite from the day was now too oppressive, not enough space to breathe. 

Yasha stepped out into the morning air. It was cool for now, but held a moisture that foreshadowed heat. Not many had awaken besides those who cared for the horses, but Yasha could feel that she wouldn't be able to sleep again. Not that she should, anyway. The tribe would be on the move again soon.

She found Luko a few tents down, eating with a woman she vaguely recognized. He smiled when his eyes found her, and patted the ground next to him. 

"Morning."

"Morning."

Luko leaned over and nudged the woman beside him, whose attention hadn't strayed from picking food from the plate of roots and meat laid out in front of them.

"You know Light Foot?"

A slender blonde woman looked up at the mention of her name, and nodded in acknowledgement before redirecting her focus back to her food.

Yasha took a helping herself. "I've seen her around."

Luko patted Yasha's back then took out a rock the size of his hand, apparently done eating.

"Got your blade on you?" He held up the rock. "I'll sharpen it."

Yasha didn't, and said so. She'd been in such a hurry to get out of her tent she hadn't even changed out of her shift. 

Luko got to sharpening. "Where were you at yesterday? Me and Black Mouth went with the scouts and killed off the rest of those things. We looked for you but we had to head off before the party left."

Yasha pulled up a handful of grass from the ground. She _had_ seen Luko and Dena getting ready to leave with the scouts and looking for her, but she didn't want to have to explain that she couldn't leave because she'd be sitting with the Sky Spire that night.

"Just talking."

The methodic scrape of the sharpening stone against Luko's blade slowed, and he cocked his head. "Talking? With who?"

Yasha hesitated. She was not going to mention the Sky Spire. She also wasn’t going to reveal Zuala's personal name to people she didn't know— though Zuala had had no problem doing that exact thing with Yasha...

"I uh– don't... I don't know her name."

"What did she look like?"

"It's not important."

Luko leaned forward and grinned mischievously, seeming even more interested.

"Yes it's important. I haven't seen you have a meaningful conversation with anyone besides me or Black Mouth since we were children."

He had her there.

"Description, description, description." Luko chanted.

Yasha sighed. "Brown skin. Shiny hair."

Luko nodded in recognition. 

"Yeah...I can picture her clearly." He closed his eyes and glanced at the sky, pretending to think for a second, then rolled his eyes and continued to stare expectantly. She regretted bringing up Zuala.

"Um. Shorter than me. I think she sleeps near the west side."

Light Foot looked up from her food then. 

"Has she got a mole by her nose?"

She did, in fact. "Yes."

"Kind of big teeth?" 

They weren't _that_ big. "I guess."

Light Foot's face twisted, and she tossed down the now clean bone she'd been eating off of. 

"You're talking about Sick Blood."

Luko shot a glance Yasha's way, then looked back at Light Foot.

"Who?"

Light Foot sucked on a greasy finger and narrowed her eyes at Luko. "You know who she is." She brushed off her pants and stood. "I’m not talking about it.”

Luko stood with her. "You can't just give us that! Who is she?" 

Light Foot held her hands up. "I'm not talking about it. She nodded towards Yasha. “Just wanted to give her a heads up." She jogged off before Luko could ask anything else.

He turned back to Yasha immediately and leaned in. "What'd she look like again?"

She was tired of this conversation. Zuala had seemed decent. Whatever Light Foot was implying was probably petty drama. She’d never even heard of anyone named Sick Blood. But then again, that did explain why she'd given Yasha her personal name instead of that shameful tribal one.

"I don't know." Across the camp, more people had started to mill around and pack up. "I'm going to bathe."

He turned to make sure Light Foot was gone, then groaned. " _Yashaaa,_ "

She was already walking away.

* * *

More days passed, and the tribe continued. With the pelts and meat from the gnolls, there was no need for any more raids, and there were no surprise attacks.

They passed into Xhorhas with little trouble from the hulking creatures that usually prowled the mountaintops, and crept through rocky goblin territory without a trace left behind. The most eventful thing that happened was Dena loosing a tooth trying to leap through the rocks like a goat, but she spat it out and grinned with all of her (remaining) teeth, and Luko snickered and joked about how it was "only a matter of time for those things".

The days felt longer as it got hotter, but once the ground began tapering back into that familiar mud and the greenery began to disappear, she knew they were close to their destination. The others must’ve sensed it too, because at camp that night, men and women did wild dances around the fire, told outrageous stories, and cooked more food than was strictly necessary.

Luko cuddled up with another warrior girl then promptly went missing, Dena was dancing and enjoying the spotlight by the fire, and Yasha found herself alone. 

Through the days, she hadn’t seen Zuala again, but she’d been thinking about what Light Foot had said. Sick Blood? It had to be someone else. Zuala didn’t look sickly or mad, and Yasha had been as vague as possible with her description. Maybe there was another huntress with a mole and (not even that big) teeth.

She wandered by the west side of camp, where she saw Zuala retire after she’d helped Yasha skin the gnolls. She didn’t know what she was doing, what she was hoping to happen. She just wanted to see something...

The west side was thoroughly empty. Everyone who slept there was at the camp’s center enjoying the celebratory atmosphere, and here she was slinking around the camp’s outskirts, trying to hunt down a woman who’d been nice to her once.

She felt strange and stupid, and turned around to rejoin the others, but heard something. She wasn’t the most perceptive, but she distinctly heard a voice, female, snarling something.

“-Anyway. We don’t want anything you’ve touched,” the voice was saying.

Yasha crept closer to the sound of the voice, and saw. The speaker was a woman with silver skin and white hair. She held a sack stained with blood– likely from whatever animal meat was inside– and her back was to Yasha. Across from her was Zuala, glaring daggers.

“Keep your hands off of the food,” The woman continued. “I know what you’re trying to do and I’ll stop you far before it happens.”

Zuala said nothing, only stayed with her arms crossed and eyes sharp.

The woman moved toward Zuala— to do what, she didn’t know —and Yasha stepped out from the tent she’d been hidden behind.

They both turned. The silver skinned woman eyed Zuala, then Yasha, and stalked off with her sack of meat. Zuala kept her eyes on the woman’s shape until it disappeared.

“Why did you let her talk to you like that?”

Zuala shook her head. “Hunters.”

A flash of color caught Yasha’s eye. “Is that blood?”

Zuala wiped her palms on her pants, leaving red streaks behind. “I just went hunting. Those were my kills she just made off with.”

Yasha immediately started in the direction of the woman, but Zuala caught her wrist.

“If I wanted them I’d have them. It’s fine.”

“I don’t understand.”

Zuala sighed and gave Yasha a hard look. “You don’t know who I am? Truly?”

Yasha floundered for a moment, and Zuala’s frown deepened.

“You don’t remember? A few months ago? The girls who got flogged in front of the camp?”

Oh. _Oh._

She did remember. Two girls had been tied to trees while the Sky Spire told the story of how they’d been caught. _Together_. They’d been whipped until they were black from blood. One had died.

She’d left the scene with her friends before the Sky Spire had spoken again, and had been too far away to recognize her face. 

_Sick Blood._

Zuala was staring at her wearily, waiting for a reaction. Yasha didn’t miss how her hand had wandered to the crossbow at her side. 

She didn’t feel like hurting Zuala. All she felt was sadness.

“What was your name? Before?”

Confusion took her features, for a moment, before fading into something raw.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what she wants to call me. I’m Zuala. I’ve always been Zuala.”

They were silent, for a while. Just looking at each other. The revelries echoed in the background, far away. It made sense– why she hadn’t seen Zuala. She was outcast, condemned to a life in the shadows. Praying that no one payed any attention to her. Alone. She couldn’t imagine how she felt living such a way. 

A ways away, through the trees, a glint of moonlight reflected across the surface of a lake. It looked still, calm. Different from what was going on at the camp.

Zuala was looking in the same direction when Yasha turned back, her face lit up by the moonlight.

“Do you want to go? To the lake?” 

Zuala smiled, lovely and sad. “I do.”


	4. Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while! Enjoy.

The lake— as small and murky a thing it was— became special for a little while. Yasha never saw Zuala during the day, and not for lack of trying, yet every few nights when she came to the lake, Zuala was there.

The first night, they walked down to the water in silence, and then the words came.

Zuala sat in the mud with her knees tucked to her chest and her chin resting atop them, staring past the water. Hardly above a whisper, she began to speak.

Yasha fixed her eyes on the moons and stayed quiet while she did. She understood sometimes people needed to talk, especially when every interaction they'd had with someone in the past month had most likely been unpleasant. She listened as Zuala talked about how as a child, the tribe had run across her swinging from treetops in the forest, and swore her in after she tried to fill them with arrows. She spoke about the best hunt she'd ever been on, the worst. She spoke about that day.

Zuala and the other girl had met before, in between patrols, after hunts— whenever no one was looking too closely. They'd become comfortable, and it had turned into the carelessness that had gotten them caught in under a month. After their punishment, the healers were forbidden from touching them, and so Zuala had survived by the skin of her teeth, and the other girl not at all.

The Dolorov were simple, and looked down on anything that wasn't essential to survival. Being with your own sex was seen as a perversion created from too much idle time, and wasteful since a union could not produce children. Yasha didn't really have any strong feelings about the Dolorov's philosophies, but could empathize with Zuala. Humiliation was just as taxing as any physical injury.

Zuala quieted. She reached a hand out and flung a rock into the lake. It hardly made it into the water and sent droplets spraying everywhere.

Yasha watched the ripples clear until the surface stilled again. She tossed another rock in, sending it skipping across the surface and into the night. When she sat back down, Zuala was looking at her with question in her eyes.

"What?" asked Yasha.

"How did you do that?"

Yasha stood and walked to the lake's edge. "Have you ever played discs?" 

"Once."

"It's the same," She demonstrated, "Just flick your hand."

Zuala made an attempt, and the rock made a neat bounce before sinking into the water.

She was a fast learner, and they spent hours skipping rocks and talking. Zuala was the type of person that vocalized every thought that crossed her mind, and her openness rubbed off on Yasha. Yasha found herself telling a woman she'd met days ago about things she hadn't shared with her friends she'd known her entire life.

"So she's going to mate you?" Zuala had a set to her lips that hinted her displeasure at the topic. Yasha noticed it made an appearance every time the matriarch was brought up.

"Yes. She said it."

_You'll have a fine mate. Soon._

"And you're excited?"

"No." It was the first time Yasha had admitted it. "I– I don't want to bear a child. I don't want to be swollen and— and useless."

The corner of Zuala's mouth twisted up. "I'll be sure to tell the next woman with child I see that Orphan Maker thinks she's useless."

The image brought a little smile to Yasha's lips. "Well, with your stomach like that you can hardly walk, let alone battle." Her face tightened. "And battle is what I am good at."

***

The tribe moved on and away from the lake, and Yasha did not see Zuala. They finally reached the homeland in a matter of days, and one of the first days there, Yasha stepped out of her tent one evening to be greeted by a child in tattered leathers.

"The Sky Spire wants you," he said, skipping any introductions.

"Oh." Yasha's stomach knotted. She'd hoped the matriarch had forgotten about her. She searched the boy's face for any clues on why she was needed. He was knuckle deep in his right nostril and staring vacantly past her.

"Right now?" 

The boy nodded.

She followed him through the camp at an agonizingly slow pace, straight to the same ornate tent she'd sat in front of some weeks ago.

When they reached the entrance, the boy wandered away with his finger still lodged in his nose, which left Yasha with no choice other than to enter, though she did so hesitantly.

She moved the tent flap aside, and her heartbeat doubled in speed. Even sitting, the Sky Spire seemed to swallow the generous space. Yasha hardly paid attention to the other two by her side in those first few moments, struck by the sheer force of her presence. When she did, however, get a hold of herself, she recognized the formidable form of the Sky Spire's favorite husband, and the fountain of platinum hair that belonged to Demon's Bane— her son.

Yasha looked down in respect, and after a brusque "Sit." from the matriarch, found herself being eyed by the three most powerful people she knew.

The matriarch and her family gave Yasha a long, appraising look.

"You told Quick Wit you had twenty years the last time I saw you. Is this true?"

"Yes."

The Sky Spire leaned back in her seat, and reached a hand to the side to flick something out of her son's hair.

"How many siblings do you have?"

"None."

It was subtle, but something in the matriarch's face shifted.

"Was your mother infertile?" Her voice was deceptively casual.

"No she- I think she just didn't- uh- have the time to take care of more children. And then she got the disease, so-"

"Ah." The Sky Spire leaned back and glanced over at Demon's Bane, as she'd been doing throughout the meeting. He met her gaze, and some unreadable exchange happened between them. He'd been observing everything carefully. It dawned on Yasha that this was an... _evaluation_ of sorts.

"Let me see your belts." The command came from the Sky Spire's husband. He gestured for them, and she could swear his fingers were wider than two of hers put together.

She undid the thick cloth straps around her hips where she marked her kills, fingers fumbling the entire time. The force of all their eyes on her made her heart beat furiously— made her sweat.

She held them out. The knots in them were embarrassingly sparse— she'd quit using the belts when she was fourteen.

His face reflected that he shared her thoughts, but he said nothing. The Sky Spire waved them away when they were passed to her. She gave Yasha a hard look, but also said nothing. Demon's Bane took them next. He gave them a quick once over before giving Yasha an amused look, then handed the belts back to her. 

The Sky Spire exchanged looks with her son. Yasha could make out none of them.

"You're excused," The matriarch said abruptly.

"Thank you." Yasha wasted no time exiting.

She made her way back to her tent at top speed. Darkness had fallen in the time she’d been in there. Her and her stupid belts. She'd really thought she'd been doing something as a teenager. It was too late to do anything about it now— The belts were enchanted. You could only make notches right after you earned them.

She pushed the flaps of her tent aside, and nearly screamed.

Zuala was sitting on her bedroll, fiddling with something in her lap. She looked up and beamed when she saw Yasha.

"Did I scare you? My bad." She dumped a pile of black shells on the ground from where they'd been cradled in her shirt.

"I brought mussels," she patted the other end of Yasha's bedroll. "Come sit."

Yasha closed the tent behind her. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in weeks."

"Ugh. I do _not_ want to talk about it."

Yasha sat and took a shell from Zuala's outstretched hand. "Where'd you get these?"

Zuala sighed and flopped onto her back. Yasha suddenly became acutely aware of the state of her tent. It was clean, she supposed, except for the pile of clothes in the corner she hadn't gotten around to washing, but she didn't think Zuala had seen them yet.

"So," Zuala started, "I guess they thought it'd be funny to switch me into a hunting party with a bunch of _children_ , like _sixteen_ at the oldest, and so we were _supposed_ to be looking for red moss for the healers, but I guess—"

While she was talking, Zuala had already opened up several mussels and was quickly sucking out the meat from inside. Yasha was still trying to open her first one. It wouldn't come undone under her fingers no matter how hard she pried.

“And they wouldn’t listen,” Zuala continued, “So we went north instead of east, got caught in a mudslide, and landed straight on top of an alligator. None of them could fight for shit, but I knew I’d get blamed if I came back without them, so-”

 _Shit._ Yasha unsheathed her sword and slammed the pommel down on the shell. The fragments sprayed everywhere, bouncing off the sides of the tent.

 _Finally._ Yasha picked up the elusive meat and chewed. It was crunchy.

When Yasha glanced to the side, Zuala was staring with an expression crossed between amusement and confusion.

“Yasha, dear.” She dropped a mussel into Yasha’s hand and held one out in front of herself. “Use a knife.” 

She deftly slid a small blade through the shell’s crack and popped it open. Yasha took the blade next and got her own open much easier than the first time.

Zuala snickered, and kept doing so the entire night. She may have poked fun, but set some pre - opened shells in front of Yasha.

Strangely, Yasha loved when they talked. She always looked forward to what Zuala had to say next. Yasha often found herself quickly tired or anxious when having conversations, but Zuala was easygoing, and never ran out of interesting things to talk about. They ate until they couldn’t anymore, and talked all night— having to suppress their laughter at times as not to wake anyone.

The next thing Yasha knew, she was on her side watching the light come in from a crack in the tent. When she sat up, the mussels that had been scattered around were cleaned up, her bedroll had been folded neatly, and Zuala was gone.


End file.
